


Keepers

by allcanadiangirl (andchimeras)



Category: Joan of Arcadia
Genre: Disability, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, POV Second Person, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-05
Updated: 2005-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/allcanadiangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is no excuse." Luke hearts Kevin, things get angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keepers

You caught Kevin the first time in his room, face-down on his bed. Looking away from you, fierce small grunts, the zipping sound of his skin against his sheets. His knuckles white against the headboard, dark dark silver blur, a few inches between his boxers and his t-shirt.

The long pale stillness of his legs, dragged up as Kevin came. Slumping back down. You watched his shoulders shuddering, cotton quivering in the dark, arm still trapped under his torso. He turned his face into his pillow and let out a short sad sound, like waking up in prison after dreaming of being anywhere else.

You pressed your hand to your chest and backed away from the door.

 

&amp;

 

You spent the first month after the accident drawing wheelchair schematics on graph paper. You still have them, bound by a bent and knotted paper clip.

Kevin spent his first month home in his room.

You would walk past his closed door and not hear anything. Not even breathing. You were afraid sometimes, usually, mostly--okay, all the time. All the time, you were always afraid that Kevin had thrown himself out the window, or suffocated, or something. Anything to explain the silence that had been laughter and your parents' proud voices before.

 

&amp;

 

The entirety of your remembered life, Kevin was never home. Except for sleeping and laundry. He was always playing or partying or at school, practise, anywhere. Anywhere but home.

He was absent, he was your brother in name only.

That does not excuse last night: face down, your hands under your own hips, wrenching your shoulders, harsh harsh breath into your own pillow.

You came.

You came and you were thinking about your brother.

You flipped onto your back and you covered your face with your hands.

When the breeze from the window blew chill across your wet stomach and your wet hand, emphasising the salt astringent smell of your come, you started to cry.

 

&amp;

 

You can see the bitter blank of Kevin's eyes everywhere, but you don't know how to talk to him.

You don't know how to talk to anybody.

You manage with your mom because she's your _mom_, and with Joan because Joan is perfectly willing to pretend she's actually interested, and you're perfectly willing to settle for that.

You manage with the kids in chem because you don't speak to each other in English, you speak in entropy and reduction synthesis. You have to give each other some slack, no one else understands you.

You try with your father but you share a kind of earnestness that makes communication awkward, and that is the only thing you share.

 

&amp;

 

You try to think about Grace, Ms. Lischak or Glynis even and you can't, God you can't.

You try to think about the three of them together and that works for a little while but then in your head you see Kevin grinning 'cause Joan said something insane about angels and your cock latches onto that image and will not let go until you remember--

The second time, he was sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, eyes closed, using both hands. Legs spread and eerily still as he worked his hands, his fingers, his hands over and over it twisting his palm over the head and biting the corner of his bottom lip and you were so hard watching from the doorway and just harder thinking what if he opens his eyes what if he sees--

You come, hips jerking and legs twitching and a shot lands, burning, right on your neck.

 

&amp;

 

He asks you to go for a drive with him, like he needs a witness, and you grin and say yes.

He is not some jock at school--he has not shoved you against the wall in the showers. You share DNA, you live in the same house, you call the same people Mom and Dad. You share a sister. You should not, should not jump at the invitation.

In the shower, in your bed, on your bedroom floor, at your desk, it is all right to tell yourself he is not your brother, but he _is_.

You can't do this--he's all smiling and the drive is quiet and comfortable. When he pulls into the drive-thru at Double Double you think _yeah I could do a burger_.

He asks you what you want and you swallow hard before saying you'll have what he's having, but with diet Coke.

You remember why you like their fries so much and you start to tell him. Talking nonsense is better than just sitting here watching his strong tanned hands on the steering wheel. He slaps his hand over your mouth oh.

At the window you breathe deep against his hand on your mouth you love his skin on yours, you are filled with elation and dread when you hear him flirting, you see him shudder and tense.

Why doesn't he just tell her? She'd like him anyway. You didn't like him at all until--

He blows the drive-thru girl off and shoves your food into your lap.

You nod at his command to forget it and you start eating.

Halfway home he pulls into the parking lot at the baseball diamond and turns the car off. He looks out into the deserted field, hands still on the wheel. You put a fry in your mouth and reach into the bag for your burger.

"Why are you always watching me?" he says without looking at you and you know that because you're watching him even now.

You open your mouth and the fry falls out. Your guts and your lungs twist up and fall, leaden, to the bottom of your stomach--metaphorically.

"You shouldn't," he says. You know, you know. You know.

"Stop it, okay?" he says. His voice is high and thin.

You nod again. Whatever he says. Whatever he wants. Denial, lies, they don't even occur to you.

He looks over at you and the fear and the pain in his face--just like when he was laying against the white pillow in the hospital and the skin of his face was still whiter. Different though, because nobody had control over what happened in the hospital, and he and you share control over this.

"Okay," you say quietly. "Okay."

 

&amp;

 

At eleven-thirty you get up from your desk to go to the bathroom. The house is dark and still and as you pass Kevin's room you hear that sound of fist on sheet.

The door is not latched. A thin sliver of orange streetlamp light leeches through as you push it open silently.

There is no excuse for the way you tell yourself this is the last time, that you need to watch and know you'll never be doing it again.

He is on his back, flat on the bed, eyes closed, one hand pressed to his mouth.

He looks like he is in pain. His jaw moves and you know he is biting into his hand.

You wish you could have bitten his palm as it pressed over your mouth. That he would have reached his other hand over and done to you what he is doing to himself. You look at the shape of his hand moving under the sheet.

Or you would do it to him--you would do anything.

A short sob and his upper body arches up from the bed and back down again, bitten hand falling. He twists his fingers in the sheets.

He sounds like he's choking. His hand moves frantically.

His eyes are open.

He's looking right at you.

You should say you're sorry and close the door but you don't. His hand on the sheet flips palm-up, fingers spread and your hand twitches God you want to touch him.

You start reaching and he blinks rapidly, breathing hard.

You see his jaw clench and he just tugs on his cock under the sheet, not really stroking, your eyes fixed on the movement, and then he lets out a hard breath and all the tension leaves his body.

You look at his face. Your mouth is dry. There are tears running down from the corners of his eyes.

"Sorry," you whisper, and you realise you're crying too.

Your outstretched hand closes the door.

 

End.


End file.
